


A Collection of One Shots

by sherlollymouse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 13,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4771559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlollymouse/pseuds/sherlollymouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of the one shots I've written and posted here. I've also included the original post date where possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Called My Name

When Sherlock asked, no demanded, that Molly stay at Baker Street after Moriarty revealed himself, she didn't hesitate. Just gathered her things and her cat. As night fell, she, reluctantly, took his bed under the agreement that he attempt to get some sleep on the couch.

In the darkness of the flat, he sat up. He was certain he cried out as he did and now sat getting his breath back. It didn't take long for him to realize someone was holding his hand.  
"It's alright, Sherlock." She cooed. "It was just a bad dream. Want me to make you tea?" He hesitantly agreed and listened to her walk away and fondle around for the light switch in the kitchen.  
While they waited for the kettle to boil, Sherlock retreated to his mind palace, sorting out the unsettling dream. It was just induced by stress, he knew, but he'd always been prone to them. Since he was young, he'd agonize about things in his head, mull them over, and they'd end up becoming bad dreams. So, as a teenager he began to sleep less; only when he really needed to and usually only after certain tasks were done. It made for a less troublesome and deeper sleep.  
The whistle of the kettle brought him back round and Molly presented him with a mug before sitting in "Johns chair", after she'd turned it to face him.  
"Why are you awake?"  
"Well, you called my name, so I came out to check on you." She spoke this like it was the simplest thing in the world; he called out for her, he must need her, so she followed his voice.  
"I did?"  
"Yes, I came out and you were mumbling in your sleep. Cursing and tossing a bit."  
"I was?"  
"Yes, you were quite animated." A small smile graced her lips, but seeing that he was a bit embarrassed or put off, she continued. "I wouldn't have heard or seen any of it if I hadn't heard my name." Sherlock just nodded and sipped at his tea. "You don't have to talk about it, but I'm here if you decide to."  
"I called your name?"  
"Yes, you called my name."  
"And it was loud enough for you hear across the flat?"  
"No, well, obviously, if I heard it. But, it wasn't like you shouted or screamed. I just heard you say my name."  
"I'm sorry I woke you."  
"Its ok." With a gentle shrug, she brought her mug up to her mouth. "I'm just glad I heard you. You seem to feel a little better." There was no answer, he just looked off into space and took a long sip of tea. "Anyway, you can have your bed, if you want. You're going to be busy in the morning and you should be well rested."  
"That's not necessary, Molly. You're the guest."  
"No, I insist." They argued a bit, but in their exhaustion, decided to simply share the bed; per Sherlocks suggestion.  
"Of course it's alright, Molly." He stared at her in the doorway of the bedroom, "Stop being silly, we're not doing anything indecent. Just sleeping." Settling under her set of covers on her belly, facing the closet, Sherlock adjusted himself on his side, staring up at wall. Even years later, they never discuss the first time they shared his bed and held hands all night.


	2. That Would Be Arson, Molly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly is having one of those days....

Molly Hooper was having one of those days. Just one of the those days. You know the kind, where you wake up late, bloated and slip in mud on your way to work…not just slip though, completely wipe out to the point where you need a change of clothes. Then, you make it to work and realize that the extra set of clothes you'd left there are at least two sizes too small so you spend the whole day worrying about bending wrong because if you crouch down, you may tear a seam. So, as she neared the end of her day, she began fantasizing about what random alcohol she had in her cabinet and how long of a bath she'd take. But, then, of course, he'd walk in.

Molly may have cursed out loud, she didn't know or care. What she did know was she was going home and he couldn't stay without a babysitter. Seeing as he was alone, that meant she'd have to kick him out. With the day she'd had she was definitely ready for that. Her trainers came to a bit of a tip she wouldn't mind shoving up his….

"Molly!" He called to her, gleefully, from her doorway, but she didn't move her attention away from her paperwork.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" There was a pause for a few moments, she could hear her pen sliding across the paper.

"I need some —"

"No."

"Pardon?"

"No body parts to spare today."

"What about —"

"You're not stealing any of the chemicals, either." Obviously there was something else he was thinking of asking about or for, but was debating on what tactic to employ.

"You look…well." Molly didn't even take the time to fully acknowledge how hilarious it was to her he was scrapping the bottom of the barrel with his attempts at manipulating her lately.

"Well?! I look well to you?" Her head had snapped up, brown eyes wide.

"So… you're …. not well,then?"

"No! I'm not well! I'm not well at all, you git!" The moment she met his eyes, she knew she should stop. Briefly explain that she had had an exceptionally bad day and whatever he wanted, he'd be better off waiting, but the overwhelming need to unload all the frustration of the day in a safe place bubbled up in her chest and with a deep exhale, it unleashed itself, barely within her control. "I woke up late this morning, I am pretty sure Toby has fleas, I have bites around my ankles and I have no idea where he picked them up or how I'm going to wash him. I haven't had sex since Tom and I broke up, six months ago and I had to cancel my date tonight because well, what would today be without my monthly visitor. Four days early. ITS FOUR DAYS EARLY! Why would it do that, Sherlock? It doesn't make sense. Its normally so predictable! But, its like a mudslide and a monsoon down there right now. I feel so unbelievably gross. When I woke up this morning so bloated, only a pair of track bottoms fit, I should have called in, but I thought it would be fine. Then I slipped in fell into this huge mud puddle and I had to change. Look at this!" She pulled her pants away from her body to reveal the red marks they were leaving on her. "And I can't eat anything because I'm afraid I'll pop the button off of these or break a seam. I haven't made any normal movements since I changed into these this morning because they were the only pair of trousers I had here. I'm so hungry and thirsty! I tried drinking water and it felt like it just sat in my stomach because they're just so tight. I've been yelled at today, forced to make conversations with idiots. The closest I've come to 'well' today has been seeing this stack of paperwork diminish." Molly paused for breath. "I've got the worst cramps I've ever had in my life, I'm a bit dehydrated, hungry, barely mobile from the waist down, I've got a headache, no feeling in my toes and the elevator scene from 'The Shining' is happening in my pants right now. So, no, I'm not well. In fact, I'm strongly fighting the urge to set this place on fire and lock you in it."

He made a few attempts at speaking, perhaps trying to choose the best words. He seemed a bit caught off guard. If she had been in better spirits, his little facial twitches and scrunches would have been amusing to her.

"Well, it's a good thing you don't."

"I suppose, I mean, you'd die of smoke inhalation before the flames got to you, anyway."

"No…— well, yes, most people do, but I was thinking more along the lines of the fact that ... that would be arson, Molly"

"Oh, right." Her face went kind of dreamy, as if the thought just occurred to her. "How long is a sentence for that?"

"Well, even if you didn't kill me or anyone else in the building, the intent was there, so… life? Or close to it."

"Damn." She breathed, flopping down on the chair with a great puff.

"I'll leave you to it then." Sherlock began to back out of the office.

"Wait.. umm…" she stood up again and gestured to the bare skin of her thigh peeking through a ripped seam; she'd sat down too hard. "Do you have something I could borrow?" Without a word, he took off his coat and handed it to her. "Thank you."

"Not a problem." As he left, she peeled the remains of trousers off and wore the Belstaff as a dress. Paper work could wait, she needed a sandwich… maybe some chocolate…. definitely water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted May 15th, 2014


	3. Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Red Panties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ONE SHOT: This was inspired by something that happened to the character Donna Moss in The West Wing episode 'The Leadership Breakfast'

Molly had been helping Sherlock for several hours into the early morning and now it was time for sleep. She simply couldn't keep her eyes open any more and she was growing stiff from having sat in the same position on the sofa for so long.

Standing up, she stretched and shook a leg lazily before walking over to the kitchen where her host (to use that phrase loosely) was messing with something 'very important' in the kitchen.

"I'm going home, Sherlock." The man simply hummed a response as she grabbed her coat and pulled it on. "See you later." Another hum, he obviously wasn't paying attention.

As she took a big breath of chilly, London morning air and hailed a taxi, she paid one last glance up at the flat, hoping maybe he was watching. Of course, he wasn't.

After another hour, he shot off a text to Lestrade and shuffled into the sitting room; Molly had left the light on. Making his way to the switch, he paused. A clump of red fabric had grabbed his attention. Bunched up on the floor, laying in a heap. Cautiously, he approached it and picked it up with equal consideration.

Panties. Very sexy panties, actually. They were red and lacy with an attached garter belt… recently worn…

Very nice. But, where…. Molly. These were Molly's.

There were several ways he could return them to her, he thought, but which would be best… should avoid any possibility of embarrassing her… their relationship had been a bit delicate since his return and he really didn't want to rock that boat… could end badly for him… for the life of him, though, he wasn't sure which of the scenarios in his mind would be the least embarrassing for her.

Obviously, they'd stuck to the inside of her trousers… she had clearly worn those more than once, being practical as she was. Must have broken its bond while she was shuffling around earlier. Either way, it wasn't like this was sorted at all… and it was him, they were friends, she shouldn't really be that embarrassed, but still… Finally decided on an option, he took a bath and a nap and threw them in with his own washing later that day. Mrs. Hudson wasn't his housekeeper, after all.

Molly hadn't heard from or seen Sherlock all day, it's not like she was worried, but she was hoping he'd text her something. For the most part, he'd been better at being polite since his return and it was nice, but it still wasn't frequent. It was late and after a night of working with Sherlock, only a brief nap and a full day of working, she was, once again, exhausted. As soon as she walked into her flat, her foot hit something and it skidded across the floor, it stopped when it hit the wall underneath her couch. With a grumble, she took off her coat and moved the piece of furniture to retrieve a small manila envelope.

Not thinking too much of it, she plopped it on the kitchen table and made herself some tea before opening it up, but once she did, she found herself rushing off to Baker Street.

"Sherlock," She leaned into the sitting room breathless. "Someone broke into my flat. I need you to check it for me."

"Who would break into your flat?" He began questioning her, but he still grabbed his belstaff and pulled it on with a great display of flair; making a big sweeping motion with it that allowed his trademark coat to flutter. She brushed off all his questions and just insisted he come, not that he was arguing, but she had no answers. "What did they take?"

"Its… private and anyway, they returned it."

"They nicked something and returned it?"

"Yes, listen, it doesn't really matter, I just want to make sure they don't get back in, alright?"

After several hours, two trips to a store that was open all hours and attempting to install different locks and things to the doors and windows, Molly felt she could finally breath.

"It's good now?"

"Yes, its fine, Molly. Shouldn't keep you up anymore."

"Good. Just the thought of that pervert in here touching things… gives me the creeps." She shuddered.

"Pervert?" Biting her lip and hugging herself, she glanced down at the floor and handed him the envelope.

"They stole a pair of knickers and, then returned it… like I'd want it back. God knows what they did with them, they've obviously been cleaned."

"This is what had you so upset?" Sherlock, once again, found himself holding Molly's red panties.

"Well, yeah! Who does that?"

"Would it make you feel better to know it wasn't an intruder?"

"What do you mean?" He didn't respond at first, he closed his eyes and sighed. This was exactly what he was trying to avoid. "We can't all deduce as well as you, Sherlock." When he opened them, he saw her, hands on hips, looking quite annoyed with him.

"Its nothing I deduced, Molly… this was me." He held the underwear and envelope up as if he were presenting them.

"What?" The pathologist jumped back like she had been shot at and starred at him in absolute horror. "What on earth is wrong with you?!"

"I didn't break into your flat and steal them!" Rarely had he ever heard himself sound so panicked as he defended himself for being in possession of Molly Hoopers red panties. He took a breath and spoke more calmly. "Look, you wore the same pair of trousers two days in a row, these were stuck in the leg. They fell out in my flat… thats all, Molly." Great, she looked mortified. This was going well.

"They fell out in your flat?" He hoped she was ok, she appeared a bit pale.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"The sitting room." With a nod, she closed her eyes and took a breath. As she exhaled, lips pursed, releasing a whooshing sound, the color came back to her face.

"Why did you just leave them in an unmarked envelope, though?"

"I wanted to avoid…" He gestured wildly to the empty space between with a tight, crooked smile. "this."

And she laughed. Curling over to grab her knees with one hand and fondling around behind her for a kitchen chair with the other. Once she was seated she looked up at him, still in the midst of her laughing fit. "What?" He demanded, only bringing water to her eyes, she was crying out so loudly. "What?!"

"Nothing… just…" She composed herself to finish her sentence. "It's kind of cute of you and so… so stupid…" So much control over her giggles forced her to snort. "Its so out of character for you, thats all." The sleeve of the jumper she was wearing was now damp from the tears she wiped from her face. Maybe if she hadn't been so tired, she might of thought of that possibility herself or at least wouldn't have a wet, red face right now.

"Well… umm… what should I have done, then?" The inquiry was serious, but as silence fell over the kitchen, she realized he had been in a lose/lose situation.

"Honestly, Sherlock, I'm not certain there is a right way to return a friends underwear." Her reply was just as serious as their expressions were stoic, though both had a bit colored by now.

"Right. Thats not something theres a social protocol for or anything, I didn't think. But, uh… can't say I've been in this situation before." Trying to relieve what he perceived to be tension or awkwardness, he playfully smiled and tossed her her red panties.

"Thanks, Sherlock." She gave him a pat on the shoulder and led him out before heading to bed, where she giggled herself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted May 15th,2014


	4. Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ONE SHOT: This was inspired by the notorious ASiB Christmas scene, I've attempted to mirror it.

"Why's he so late?" Greg Lestrade asked pouring himself a drink in the Baker Street flat.

"He said he had some things to finish at St. Barts first, but he's on his way." John planted himself on the couch next to his wife and sleeping infant daughter. As if on cue, the doors to the building flew open and loud shouting could be heard in the corridor.

"For christ sakes, Molly!" Sherlock's baritone shook the walls.

"No, you listen here, William Sherlock Scott Holmes…"

"Stop calling me that!"

"I'll call you whatever I want, you twat! Now, move!" The pair stomped up the stairs, still arguing with every step.

"What exactly did I do wrong, Molly? What?"

"Oh, you want me to tell you? Where should I start, the part where you chased my first date in a year off or the part where you insulted my nose?" Sherlock had taken off his coat and walked directly over to his book shelf, pulling a copy of religious texts down, mumbling to himself, his reaction was a bit delayed but volatile.

"I DID NOT INSULT YOUR NOSE!"

"You did, too."

"DAMN IT, MOLLY!" He lost his tempter and tossed the book across the room, breaking the orange floor lamp in the corner.

"Hey, now!" John very angrily demanded, shielding his baby, though no glass hit the couch.

"Oh, so we're breaking things now, are we?" Molly marched up to the mantel, grabbed the skull and walked back to the middle of the room before hurling at the mirror; shattering it.

"My skull!" The detective whined.

"Shove it up your ass, Sherlock."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I didn't stutter." The dark haired man continued to look shocked and perplexed. For a moment, the two just stared at each other and the guests, frankly, were enjoying the confusing holiday festivities. "I don't know what has gotten into you, Sherlock. When you first came back, it was great… but then,….you started being this huge dick again. It's not fair and its not right and you need to apologize to me and start treating me well again. I don't even understand what changed." Another paused. "When you came back, you were so sweet. You said things I never thought you would say to me… you appreciated me and you actually respected Tom, but then we broke up and you relapsed and…."

She stopped and let her mouth drop open. "You're trying to push me away."

"What?"

"No, you are… like a kid… a teenage boy who doesn't quite know what to do with the girl who sits in front of him in biology." Molly scoffed. "You're trying to get me to reject you because you're afraid. You're afraid to even try… aren't you?" She was searching his face, actually deducing him and Sherlock began to feel rather small… Was this what he did to people? Was this the whole point to him when he did it? Obviously… maybe… "Listen, Sherlock. You can't choose who you love or why, but I've always fought for you and I always will. This isn't something you rationalize. Thats the problem to you. You want to break it all down to chemicals, well, its not like that. You told me you hoped I'd be happy, what you didn't know is the day you said that was the one of best and saddest days of my adult life…. You made me happy that day, Sherlock." She stepped to him until they were toe to toe. "Whether I want to or not, and god I don't sometimes, I love you… unconditionally." Molly wrapped her hands up his neck and slowly began to pull his face down to hers. "Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes."

When their lips met, his were loose and didn't fight her when she parted them, he even gripped her hips a little bit with his fingertips. But, she only allowed their tongues to dance a few short moments before she pulled away, smiled and walked out of the flat without another word.

A stunned consulting detective stood in the middle of his flat, trying to ground himself, surrounded by an equally perplexed doctor and DI, but Mary just cast a knowing "I told you so" look at her husband.

"Drink?" He finally spoke, in a dry, cracking, higher pitched voice that didn't sound like his own. Greg merely nodded and passed him a tumbler of cognac, which he drank in a single gulp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted May 15th, 2014


	5. Are You Running?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly is recovering and is under the influence of a strong pain medication.

Sherlock was happy to hear Molly was alright. However, the fact that the assassin had missed Mollys heart and she was still alive reminded him this was part of a game; if Moriarty had wanted her dead, she would be.  
She was laying in the bed, not speaking much, but smiling a funny smile… the kind that morphine gives those with lower tolerance of drugs than himself.  
“Sherlock.” She croaked, before gesturing to her chest and saying “ow.” For whatever reason, this became particular hilarious to her and she began laughing and repeating “ow”.  
With the raise of his eyebrow and a small, discreet smile on his lips, he swaggered past the rest of their friends and reached for the morphine tap, bringing it down only one or two blips. As he did this, he rested his hand next to her on the bed, to his surprise, as well as anyone else’s, she pulled it up to her chest and proceeded to cuddle with it; spooning it as if it were a full human being, or a teddy bear or pet.  
“Molly, uh… may I please have my arm?”  
“Why? Do you need to go?” Their voices were hushed.  
“Well, soon, yes, if you don’t mind… I am trying to track down the man that did this to you.”  
“But, you don’t need to go yet.”  
“No, but I need to go soon.”  
“You’re always leaving me, Sherlock.”  
“I am sorry, Molly, but I told you, we want to…”  
“Are you running from me?” There a brief beat of silence, but Sherlock quickly broke it with a stuttered observation.  
“Molly, you’re high right now.”His tone changed to one a bit more stern as he glanced around the room at their audience.”Give me my arm, please.”  
“If John wasn’t here, you’d be sweeter to me.”  
“What?”  
“If John left, you’d be nicer… you might even kiss me.” Sherlock started pulling his arm away, though gentle, still determined.  
“Don’t be absurd, Molly, its nothing to do with….” She had allowed the arm to bring her closer to him, instead of just releasing it. From her close,seated position, she slid her free arm around his neck and interrupted him by smashing their lips together. Shocking the man and allowing her full enough control to deepen the kiss and pull him on top of her.  
“Ow!” She cried before lapsing into another laughing fit; still white knuckling his collar, holding him in place.  
“Yes, well,” Clearing his throat, Sherlock attempted to adjust himself on top of her, she wasn’t releasing him. “you did pull a much larger human being on top of yourself.”  
“I’ve had bigger.” At that moment, she released him and they gave each other panicked looks. “I meant…. men with….larger bodily proportions.”  
“Right.” Regaining himself, he adjusted his coat, gave his hair a bit of a fluff and turned to John. “We should… uh… get to work, don’t you think?”  
“Sure, yeah.” The doctor pulled his mouth into a tight, amused smile as he grabbed his own jacket and they headed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted May 15th,2014


	6. What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has used Molly a lot in the past and now, she's calling in a favor.

Sherlock was preparing to pull his coat on when a flustered Molly burst into the lab.  
“Sherlock,” She was obviously out of breath. “Remember how you use to,ya know, manipulate me to give you time in the lab or… or… pull a body back out?”  
“What?” A pair of voices echoed in the hall outside and Molly cursed.  
“Well, you owe me. BIG. And I’m cashing in.”  
“What?” Just then, an older woman came in, arm laced around a mans arm obviously at least ten years her junior.  
“Mom, Lyle… this is my boyfriend, Sherlock.”  
“What?”  
“Oh, he’s adorable!” The woman explained, leaning in and taking a firm grab of his cheeks.  
“Um… hello.”  
“Well, at least you’re seeing someone again.” Her conversation drifted from Molly back to Sherlock. “Get back up on the horse, thats what I always say, and I’ve always meant it literally.” She laughed, giving the detective a playful elbow jab and a wink.  
“What?”  
“Oh, and look at you. My, my… if we picked men out like we picked horses, you’d certainly be a fine steed, if I do say so myself.” The lady took the liberty of squeezing at his forearms, but didn’t receive much of a response, Sherlock was passing Molly a confused and slightly horrified look and all she could do was move her hands into a prayer position and mouth the word ‘please’. “So, Molly, will this fine, young buck be accompanying us to dinner?”  
“Buck?”  
“Uh… no, Sherlock has a lot going on right now, I’m not sure he can make it.”  
“Oi, Sherlock, thats not right. Take the night off.” Lyle finally spoke.  
“Uh….”  
“Sherlock works freelance, so when he gets jobs, he kind of needs to take them.”  
“Freelance.” The mother scoffed. “Well, at least he has a nice arse.”  
“Excuse me?”  
“I mean, if a man can’t keep a job, the least he can do is…”  
“Actually, I do think I’ll be free tonight, Molly.”  
“Thats great!” Molly’s mother clapped her hands together in excitement.  
“Are you sure, Sherlock?” His “girlfriend” asked through gritted teeth.  
“Positive, Molly.” He walked over and threw his arm around her. “I can take a nice, long break for dinner. I mean, after all, your mother went through the trouble of coming down to see us.”  
“Oh, and you would not believe how awful that journey was. I swear, I’ll never understand why you love London so much, Molly.” The woman hardly noticed her daughter starring daggers at her ‘boyfriend’, she was self absorbed in her own little story.  
“Thats awful, I’d love to hear all about it, but I think we should be leaving soon, shouldn’t we?” Sherlock interrupted.  
“Oh, right! Went through all the trouble of making a reservation, we’d hate to be late!” She exclaimed.  
“Absolutely, why don’t you two go catch a cab and we’ll be right out.” Of course, they quickly agreed and he ushered them out of the lab.  
“What…was… that, Sherlock?”  
“What was what?”  
“You invited yourself to dinner!”  
“Correction, they invited me.”  
“No, they invited my boyfriend to dinner.”  
“Which they think I am, so they invited me, I accepted.”  
“Why?”  
“I’m… hungry?”  
“No, why?”  
“Does it matter?”  
“I don’t know… maybe?”  
“Look, Molly, does it bother you that much?” She paused for a moment and worried at her bottom lip.  
“I suppose not…”  
“Good, then…”  
“But, behave yourself… they think you’re my boyfriend and my mother now assumes your unemployed, unfortunately. So, please, please, behave yourself.”  
“When haven’t I?” A familiar look spread across her face and he quickly apologized. “I will be on my best behavior, Molly Hooper… but, if I may ask… what will you do when she finds out we’re theres no wedding bells in the future for us?” Sherlock pulled on his belstaff with characteristic flair and she made made her way to the door.  
“As far as your concerned, tonight, there are.”  
“Wait… what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally Published on May 15th, 2014


	7. Split the Sky in Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From anonymous prompt "I don't know if you are taking prompts but here's one if you like- Sherlock is at Molly's flat. Her engagement is still on but tom is out. Both have a little too much wine, enough to spill their feelings. One thing leads to another, and tom comes home to catch them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this idea from the song "The Touch" by Cathy Davey.  
> Video and link to the lyrics are posted.

[lyrics here](http://www.songlyrics.com/cathy-davey/the-touch-lyrics/)

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The clock in the small corridor of Molly and Tom’s flat chimed nine. Tom had just left to have a late dinner and drinks with some of his uni mates leaving Molly alone in the sitting room, sighing over a book she’d read about twenty times since she was sixteen. Their dog announced her visitor as he knocked, completely obliterating the silence and forcing her to jump.  
    The labrador calmed itself, though, before she looked the peephole and flung open the door.  
“Sherlock?”  
“Hello.”  
“You knocked.”  
“You told me I should make sure to do that.”  
“Right.”  
“May I come in?” At that moment, it registered to Molly she was blocking the doorway.  
“Of course.” She stepped back, allowing him to walk in and Sherlock allowed the cat and dog to ‘frisk’ him, though he let out a strange noise when the lab sniffed at the front seem of his trouser and Sherlock gently pushed him away.  
“Now, now, no need to get too personal.” Sherlock smiled.  
“So, what brings you here, Sherlock?” For a moment, he just stared at her. She had to say, she enjoyed putting him on the back foot and evening out the playing field, but she didn’t like it when he had trouble trying to talk to her about something important. It made her feel good to have his confidence. Receiving it was quite a feat and to think he would hesitate to confide in her now was worrisome. She allowed him to stutter a bit, but ended it quickly. “Whats wrong?”  
“Nothings wrong.” He laughed.  
“Yes, something is wrong.” Sighing and pursing his lips, he took a few moments to pick his words.  
“I just wanted to see you, Molly. So, I came down to see you.”  
“Was that so hard?”  
“Actually, a bit.” He admitted, twitching his face.  
“Wine?” She offered, picking up her empty glass.  
“Sure.”  
~~***       *       *** ~~             
The wine had quickly gone to their heads and they were laughing at nothing in particular. Sherlock had taken to throwing popcorn at the muted television and “boo”-ing whenever a particular character came on.  
“Ugh.” He shook his head and gestured to the couple on the telly.  
“What?” Molly asked.  
“That couple…. they’re awful together… I mean, they must know.”  
“They could work… I mean, the story suggests that they do.” Apparently, this was debatable.  
“They won’t work, like you and …Tom.” He spat.  
“What about us?” If she wasn’t drunk, she’d probably be offended, but instead, she sounded sad.  
“I wasn’t going to say anything.” He whispered.  
“No, no,… I… I wanna know.”  
“Fine… its… your entire relationship is based on sex. Its apparent you find him very skilled.” Sherlock swallowed hard, but rolled his eyes. “I mean, he obviously doesn’t mind hearing about your job, but he doesn’t understand or respect it… he sees it as something he has to do… a responsibility. And… and… he doesn’t really want kids, Molly. Certainly, you see that.”  
“What?B-but, we’ve talked about it… you’re lying!”  
“Nope… doesn’t like kids.” He sunk back in his chair and Molly stared at him, mouth agape. “He’s compromising… hoping you’ll decide you only want one.”  
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”  
“Because,… I wanted you to be happy and I… I still think he could make you happy.”  
“No, you don’t.”  
“Well, they’re are compromises made in every relationship… I think, honestly, you could… end up content.”  
“Friends are honest with each other.”  
“Please, don’t me cross with me.”  
“I’m not cross.” She slurred.  
“Good… because.. I.. I know you were talking about dates…”  
“Yes?”  
“Please, don’t… don’t”  
“Sherlock…”  
“Don’t marry him, Molly.”  
“Sherlock…”  
“I’m begging you, Molly.” He pulled himself off the couch and positioned himself in front of her, on his knees. “Please, don’t marry Tom.” As she looked him up and down, she decided she wished she wasn’t drunk anymore.  
“You should leave.”  
“I will gladly leave, just please tell me you won’t marry him.”  
“I can’t make that promise, Sherlock.” She shook her head. “He loves me… unlike some people.”  
“You don’t think I love you, Molly?” An obvious flash of pain shot through his eyes. “I’m desperate for you, Molly. I’m begging you,Molly, please… please, don’t marry Tom.” For a moment, Molly allowed her hand to rest on his cheek and he kissed the palm.  
“And why, exactly, should I leave, Sherlock?” He said nothing, but pulled them both to their feet placed her back against the opposite wall, kissing her with a fervor she’d never felt from any lover before.  
She could taste the cigarette he’d smoked on his way over a few hours ago and was intoxicated by his musk.  
“May I, Molly?” Sherlock pulled away and placed his hand inside the waist band of her trousers. Before she could say anything, the door opened and in walked Tom.  
Gracefully, Sherlock slid his hand away. The positions the two were standing in when Tom turned around and saw them both was still compromising, but less obvious.  
“Evening, Tom.” Sherlock crooned with a smirk.  
“Molly, is—uh— is Sherlock bothering you?”  
“No—no, Tom he’s not. He was just in the neighborhood, so he stopped by.”  
“Is he pissed?” Her fiancé demanded.  
“Well, Tom, we did have some wine. He didn’t expect to drink so he asked to borrow some cash for a cab.” Quickly, the pathologist turned around and grabbed a few bills out of a change bowl on the coffee table. “He was just heading out, why don’t you put on some tea and we’ll have a culpa before bed?” Tom agreed as Molly ushered Sherlock out the door.  
“Molly,” The detective whispered in the hallway with a desperation she’d never heard before. “Tell me what do you need to say, to do… what do I need to give you to say you won’t—“  
“Sherlock,” She hissed.  
“— Marry him. Molly, I will get back on my knees and plead with you if I must… I’d split the sky in two if it where possible and lay the stars and moon at our feet.”  
“You’re drunk.”  
“Don’t be so cold, Molly. Can’t I dare to wish to kiss you like that forever?”  
“Stop this.” She demanded, “stop this, now.”  
“What do you want to hear, huh?”  
“I want to hear you leaving?”  
“Nothing says ‘I love you’ like a desperate man.” He scoffed.  
“Molly?” The voice of Tom interrupted them.  
“Leave, now.” Her tone was fierce and unflinching.  
“A well.” Sherlock stopped the door from closing in his face.  
“What?”  
“I would throw myself down the deepest well if you asked.” Molly seemed to consider this for a moment, but appeared to dismiss it as symptomatic of their drunken state.  
“Good night, Sherlock.” She didn’t let him catch the door this time. “Coming, Tom.” Somehow, it felt wrong slamming the door in Sherlock’s face, but she made her escape to the kitchen just the same and sat down with Tom to drink some chamomile tea before bed.  
“So, he gone?” He asked, placing the cup and saucer in front of her.  
“Oh, yeah. Just a little confused. I mean,he doesn’t drink much.”  
“Really?”  
“No,”she tried not to sound offended. “he rarely drinks, actually. Doesn’t like things that make it hard for him to work.”  
“Oh,” Tom held his tongue as Molly took a loud sip of her tea and stared at the wall beyond him. “So— uh— the date? Do you want to pick a date?” For a minute, she appeared confused, lost in her own thoughts.  
“Hmm? Oh!” She smiled at him. “The wedding date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published on June 22nd, 2014


	8. How She Does It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock Holmes wants to know how Molly Hooper does it.

Based on this song

lyrics can be found [here](http://www.cowboylyrics.com/lyrics/austin-sherrie/you-keep-on-lovin-me-4402.html)

 

 

 

“Hello.” The voice made her jump as she whipped around in her chair, nearly spilling the last sip of her tea.

“Oh, Sherlock.” Molly let out a gentle giggle. “You really need to start knocking.” She shook her head and offered him tea as she got up from her kitchen table.

“You—you were crying.” Waving away the offer, he studied her face.

“A bit.” She admitted, reluctantly.

“And your cheek… you were fighting?” The detective was very surprised at his own deduction and Molly winced a bit.

“Yes, I was, but it wasn’t a big thing.” He situated himself in the doorway, not sitting with her at the table or taking off his Belstaff.

“With who?” Molly sat down a little too hard on the kitchen chair and it cried out with a squeaky protest .

“It’s not what you think.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “I got into an argument with one of my superiors and he gets a little animated. It genuinely was an accident… but I won.” Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from chuckling as they exchanged smiles.

“It was about me, wasn’t it.” He almost whispered, glancing at the floor.

“Yes.” Of course, Molly wouldn’t even try to lie about it. That was one of the things he loved about her the most; her fierce loyalty to him extended to always giving him the truth when he asked for it.

“How do you do it, Molly?”

“Do what?”

“The way you do it just… seems so effortless… natural.” He shrugged.

“Do what, Sherlock?”

“Keep your faith in me.” The clatter of her tea cup being set back on the saucer was much louder than it should have been in the tiny flat. “I’ve said and done awful things to people, Molly, including you and probably always will… I- I let you down, all the time.”

“No, you don’t, Sherlock.” She quietly corrected.

“But, you’re still here… by my side… like it never happened.”

“Thats what friends do.”

“Well, I’m not the best friend someone could ever have.”

“You have no idea, do you, Sherlock?” Her expression was a little sad as she got up and began walking toward him.

“I’ve hurt you, Molly. But, you still come back.” Toe to toe with him now, she gingerly took his hands in hers.

“Relationships… all relationship are something you have to work on. There were nights we lost the touch and good days that went by way too fast and times where it takes all I’ve got to try to make that … that feeling last.” She gestured between them. “But, I’m going to keep on loving you, Sherlock.”

“Why?” Mollys voice caught in her throat and she felt her eyes well up.

“Because I can’t not love you, Sherlock. You’re worth it to me.” The force with which his lips where pressed to hers knocked her off her feet and took her breath away. His large,strong arms were all encompassing and the only thing keeping her from hitting the floor and she clung to him as one would if he was the only thing keeping them from falling off a cliff into oblivion. She didn’t want the kiss to end; it was like every breath she’d ever taken and every emotion she ever felt all at once, but he had to eventually pull away.

“I’d make a rubbish boyfriend but…would you let—“

“Yes,” she interrupted. “Yes, Sherlock. God, yes, of course.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”Still holding on to her like she was life itself, he managed to look a bit affronted.

“Did I need to?”

“Well… you didn’t know what I was going to say… and.. and that might change your answer.”

“Oh.” Molly knew he saw she felt deflated.

“I was going to say that, I’d make a rubbish boyfriend, but would you let me try to make a good husband?” Still not on her own two feet, wrapped in his arms and teetering at an angle, her breath hitched and her jaw dropped as she starred up at him. “Not good?” He squinted a bit as he searched her expression, looking for a tell tale sign of her thoughts, but ended up appearing a bit panicked himself. “Damn it, Molly, please, say something.” She couldn’t help but laugh.

“It doesn’t change my answer, Sherlock. Not a bit.” His sigh of relief was obvious and heavy as a smile spread a crossed his lips. “I’d marry you right now if the courthouse were open.”

“I—I can ring Mycroft.”

“You’re serious?”

“If thats what you want.” He set her on her feet properly.

“Phone him.” She said, burying her face in his chest with a smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted June 22nd, 2014


	9. Still Turning in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Musical prompts strike again!!!  
> Based on a cover of "My Body is a Cage" by Sara Lov

Lyrics [here](http://songmeanings.com/songs/view/3530822107858770742/)

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He often watched her through the windows of the observatory. Working slowly, quietly, with purpose. He wasn’t even sure what had brought him down to St. Barts that evening. Well, he didn’t want to admit it to himself. He’d done this before; just watched her. Sometimes, she’d play music, but since she recorded many of her notes, music was primarily played only when she was cleaning up. Sherlock smiled to himself as he saw her slowly begin moving her hips to the music. For just a few moments, he allowed himself the freedom to imagine just walking in and waltzing her around the room. Molly appeared to be a natural, it would go smoothly, they’d glide across the morgue and she’d smiled at him, he’d return it and they’d just set the morgue on fire with their nimble, learned feet. He’d twirl her, dip her and she’d finally have a dance partner who’d catch her when she,playfully, attempted a leap. She would be the best dance partner he’d never have; he knew this. But, sometimes, only sometimes, usually late at night, when he couldn’t smoke or shoot up, he’d allow himself these dreams. And they’d only be dreams… Dreams of whisking her around as she artfully followed his lead. He’d imagine how her curves would feel in the palm of his hand and how her fingers would feel running through his curls. He could see, in his minds eye, how she’d know every move and trust him to lead, and later… if she allowed him to, he’d return the favor in a less civilized manner. Sherlock would stop these flights of fancy; these pubescent day dreams before their lips even met, though. Before their gaze became heated and intoxicating. Before either of them would speak.

“You’re becoming a bit predicable, brother dear.” Mycrofts voice broke his revery. He didn’t answer or turn to face him, and the elder brother responded with a heavy sigh… as if his exhale could fill the silence like a balloon. “John was worried about you.” The elder Holmes continued, fiddling with his umbrella. “Thinks you’ve possibly fallen off the wagon.” Sherlock didn’t move, continued to stare into the morgue, back turned to his brother. “You need to stop breaking in to stare into a darkened morgue, Sherlock, people will talk.”

“People rarely do anything else.” His mouth was dry, but he didn’t allow his speech to reflect that.

“We’ll find her, Sherlock.”

“I’m not a child, Mycroft.”

“No, you’re not… but you’ll never find her if you’re too busy startling the staff. No one will work nights in here anymore because of you.” Sherlock glided his vision over the blackened, bleak room. No matter what he did, he heard her ghost, saw her ghost. Chances are, she wasn’t even dead, and, yet, she was haunting him. “She is resilient, Sherlock.” Silence again. Certainly, Mycroft had deduced Sherlock was recalling his own experiences in captivity. The elder took another loud, heavy exhale. “Are you ready to go?” Sherlock winced a bit at Mycroft’s tone; there was uncharacteristic sensitivity in it, when he didn’t respond, Mycroft brought a cigarette up to his shoulder. “Lets take a walk.” Hesitantly, Sherlock accepted the blight gift and finally picked up the boots that usually felt heavy with indecision in this room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published 2014-06-23


	10. No One Said Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt from a Nonny: "This thought is dark and angsty. I was wondering if you could do this prompt: Sherlock enters the morgue and Molly's there, body lying at the morgue table (apparently, the rescue mission failed). And Sherlock's standing there with his emotionless face. When everyone has left, he cries (but does not bawl), holds her hand, then he left."

Mycroft lead the way into the morgue, silently. No one said anything, but John and he both noticed that Sherlock was all but dragging his feet, head hung low.  
The pathologist must have never worked with Molly or recognized her. Made sense, though, letting a pathologist work on a familiar body was highly unusual, but the men weren’t deaf to the casualness of his voice. Obviously he wasn’t use to working with living people.  
Still, no one said anything.  
The pathologist slid the sheet down to Molly’s shoulder. Mycroft and John ignored Sherlocks wince. He was stone faced, emotionless… they could feel the cold emanate off of him. It was only little hints that those who knew him and Molly noticed. To anyone else, he appeared indifferent. His hands cupped behind his back, gently swaying from one leg to the other and uncharacteristically worrying at his lower lip. A habit he’d acquired from her, no doubt.  
Still, no one said anything.  
The confirmation of her identity was made with unanimous nods rather than verbal affirmations. As the man reached out to grab the sheet, the long fingers of the consulting detective wrapped around his wrist. The pathologist glanced up at Sherlock, who was still expressionless. Seeing no real prompt from the tall, dark man, he looked to the brother and friend for a cue. Mycroft simply looked at the ground, sighing, but John gave a nod before assuming the same position. When the man returned to look back up at Sherlock, he still was starring down at Molly.  
Still, no one said anything.  
The message clear to everyone, they filed out together, leaving Sherlock alone with his pathologist. He waited until he heard the door click close before he allowed himself to relinquish control. To loosen the grip on his emotional gauge that he’d twisted so tight. His sniffle echoed through the room, before a barely audible cry filled the morgue as he folded in on himself, placing his forehead to hers. At that moment, he held fast to himself, but he couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Silently, they streamed down his cheek, patting onto her face like a gentle rain.  
Still, no one said anything.  
He pressed his lips to her cold, stoney ones, briefly, bidding her to wake up.  
Fairy tales. He thought.  
No one said anything.  
There was nothing to be said. No words could have verbalized the pain, the sorrow, the regret. There simply were no words.  
Molly Hooper was dead and he’d never said anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published 2014-07-05


	11. He Came Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr  
> anonymous said:
> 
> Sherlolly song prompt??? These four walls by little mix with happy ending?? Pleaseeeee <3

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was always a safe place. The warm water flowing over his body, it was alright to let go. The few times in his life he had cried as an adult had been in a shower. But, today wasn’t like that. He was numb.  
        This morning, he was going away. His brother had told him he would be dead in six months. But, he felt nothing. Not until the chill of the water registered with him and he realized he was shivering a bit.  
—————————————————————————————  
        When he told her what had happened and that she couldn’t see him again, she hadn’t felt anything. Shocked to her core. In the darkness of her bedroom, she held fast to the pillow he had used while utilizing it as an office of sorts…. the web he had built was still up on her wall.  
        It had caused many fights with Tom, who had opted to sleep on the sofa while she sat with him for long hours and allowed him to bounce ideas off of her.  
        That morning, it was still damp with her tears. She must have been crying in her sleep.  
—————————————————————————————  
        The entire time he got ready, the only thing he could remember thinking was ‘whats the point?’. Truth be told, there really was none. It didn’t matter if he shaved or donned his Spencer Hart… not today.  
        This numbing… anti-pain was akin to the feelings he had before he met John Watson. When he spent every waking moment not on a case contemplating the most interesting way to kill himself. Fittingly, he had a fixation for an extended period of time with throwing himself off a roof. He figured New Scotland Yard or St. Barts… they were both important to him in some way.  
        Now, he would have no say in how he was going to die. It was an odd feeling. Not having a pull either way; towards survival or death. His only hope was that it might be quick, but that was unlikely.  
        With how dead he already felt, it might be a relief to feel the pain that would foreshadow his death.  
        The offer of breakfast that morning felt too much like a last meal, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to stomach it anyway.  
—————————————————————————————  
        Slowly, she peeled herself off of the bed and tried to put herself together for work. Shockingly, she brushed and braided her hair, but as she brought the lipstick to her vacant smile, she froze in place. His words from years ago echoed in her mind. All the ones he spoke pertaining her wearing lipstick.  
        ‘….are you wearing lipstick?’  
        ‘….mouths to small, now.’  
        ‘…echoes the lipstick….’  
        It hit the sink with a clatter and she simply walked out of the bathroom and walked out of the apartment. It didn’t matter anyway.  
—————————————————————————————  
        He had meant to tell John. But he couldn’t. The words got stuck in his throat. In his mind, he had even practiced it.  
        ‘I meant it when I said I love you, but I never got to say that to Molly. Will you watch over her for me?’  
        Instead, he told a joke about his name. A lame one,too. But, John had laughed. And thats how he wanted to remember John, anyway.  
        Molly was a guardian angel, brandishing love valiantly. Sometimes, it needed to be tough, sometimes it needed to be soft. John was his friend… and he wanted to,… needed to remember him happy.  
    It felt good to laugh. But, moments later, he had relinquished his composure for a moment in the jets lavatory. Sometimes it was necessary to purge this painful emotions.  
—————————————————————————————  
        Nothing could will a smile onto her face today. But, her expression changed the moment Moriarty’s face flashed onto her little office telly. She’d frozen in place and,for the first time that day, her mind started working.  
        What did this mean? What would happen to Sherlock?  
        Sure, she’d wondered what it might mean for her, but she was much more concerned about him.  
—————————————————————————————  
    The second his brother made it clear the jet was turning around, he physically felt life breath into him. Though he exhaled it with annoyance, it was partially because he was in shock about the whole thing and didn’t quite know if anything that happened since shooting Magnussen was real.  
        As the planes wheels touched down, his first though was of rushing off to Barts.  
—————————————————————————————  
    She was still staring at the screen when he came him and positioned himself in front of her.  
    “Molly?” She looked up in to his eyes and felt her knees buckle a bit, but he caught her. His reflexes where catlike.  
    “Sherlock?” She felt a single warm tear hit her cheek.  
    “Yes.”  
    “But, you were—“  
    “What? Do you really think my brother would send me away with Moriarty back? Don’t be—“ She stopped his words with the deepest kiss she’d ever exchanged with anyone.  
                                   He came back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published 2014-07-10


	12. War and Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr  
> Anonymous asked "teenlock: Sherlock saves Molly after the teacher catches her doodling and Sherlock hands her the answer very discreetly"

Molly didn’t hate history, it just wasn’t her subject. She preferred the sciences and art. Which is what she was combining during the instructors lecture. As she gave all her focus to the anatomically correct heart on her page, she was interrupted by her name as the teacher pushed passed.  
“Miss Hooper.” The instructors voice boomed and Molly shot up as fast as she could, nearly taking the desk with her.  
“Yes, Miss Harlan?”  
“I thought you could answer the question, I mean, since you obviously already know the material.” Molly’s heart thundered in her chest. She could name every piece, every part and all the proper names of every function her cardiac system, but god help her if she didn’t even hear the question. Panicked she glanced around the room. Just as Miss Harlan was taking her seat and making another biting comment, the boy who sat beside her, with dark curls and a constant air of annoyance, nudged her. Her eyes fluttered down to the paper he was discretely gesturing to with his pen.  
“July 10th, 1460, ma’am.”  
“Very good, Miss Hooper. Who won?” As carefully as possible, she followed his lead, reading what he wrote on the paper out of the corner of her eye without thinking.  
“The Yorks, ma’am. Lord Grey de Ruthyn betrayed the kings entrenchments. 300 were killed and the king was taken prisoner. Among the dead were many prominent men including Buckingham, Shrewsbury, and Egremont. Now, if you wouldn’t mind I think we’d all appreciate it if you would return to attempting to teach the class,though below level, rather than pick on a student because her hair and the smell of her bath soap reminds you of your husbands mistress.” As soon as Molly finished reading that last sentence, she could feel herself going pale again and her heart rate increasing. Her eyes went wide for a moment and she swallowed, the instructor said nothing, simply stood up and left the room crying.  
“Sherlock Holmes, what the bloody hell did you make me say that for?”  
“Me? I didn’t make you say anything. You chose to say it.” Students around them were floundering around, already deciding to abandon the class.  
“No, I was happy you were helping me and I gratefully accepted it in good faith. You had no right to write something so vile when you knew very well I was going to say it.”  
“Well,” He stood up and gathered his own books. “You are welcome.”  
“What?” Molly called back as he pushed past her.  
“You said you were grateful for my help. I said you were welcome… is that not what I was suppose to say?” Honestly, Sherlock looked like he might be genuinely confused.  
“No, Sherlock, thats what you say. But, I would like an apology for tricking me like that.” When Sherlock chortled, in an attempt to dismiss her, she grabbed his arm. “I mean it, Sherlock Holmes. Apologize.” He studied her for a moment, considering.  
“I’m sorry, Molly Hooper. I will never betray your trust like that again, especially under the guise of assisting you.”  
“Apology accepted… now, was that so hard?”  
“Actually, yes it was. I don’t think I did anything wrong, I mean, she was completely in the wrong to pick on you like that. You should really learn to stand up for yourself more. I did you a favor.” As he disappeared around the corner, Molly wasn’t sure how she felt about their conversation, but it was obvious to her that, perhaps, Sherlock would be a very good ally in any war… florally named or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published on 2014-07-10


	13. I Bet You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Sherlolly prompt: Could I have roommate pre-sherlolly Molly finding out that Sherlock has been sabotaging her dates that show up at their flat?
> 
> I wrote this almost stream of consciousness… no notes or anything and I didn’t stop or start over. It hasn’t been beta’ed or anything. I hope you still like it, considering I used it as a writing exercise beyond story development.

Molly Hooper stood in between the glass sliding door that separated the living room from the kitchen, hands on hips, glaring down Sherlock Holmes. From his seat, he gently twitched, fighting the physical compulsion to fidget in his seat under the fire of daggers shooting from Molly’s eyes.

“Did I hear you right?” He shrugged, avoiding her eye contact as the sound of her toes tapping against the kitchens linoleum seemed to amplify in the space. “Did you just tell Marcus that Sheryl Watson was my child?”

“I may have.” Again, no contact as he lifted his hand to rub his neck. “But, it was for your own good.” Sherlock insisted, pushing himself up out of his chair. As he pivoted to walk towards his computer on the desk, he made sure to keep his eyes downcast. Still furious, Molly joined him in the sitting room, picking up a sleeping Sheryl Watson from the sofa.

“I’m going to run her up to bed because no child should hear the words I have for you, Sherlock Holmes.” She hissed at him in a whisper, careful not to wake the sleeping baby they were sitting. As she tiptoed up the stairs, Molly began to fume. It was likely he’d been doing this since she moved in fives months ago, after all, she hadn’t had but one date since she got her key.

The only reason that she could think that he would possibly do this was because he was afraid of being alone so long with such a young baby. After all, Sheryl wasn’t even a year old yet and hadn’t developed much in the realm of communication. Molly had suspected for a while that his own lack of ability to deduce the baby had frightened him on some level, she’d seen the slight look of panic on his face as he bounced her while she cried for no apparent reason.

At that moment, though, tiny Sheryl barely made any sort of a fuss as Molly pushed her bed against the wall and laid her down dead center, surrounding her by pillows. She’d be up to sit near her soon and read, given that fact that Sherlock had sent her date running off, tail between his legs and hair standing on end. How he deduced the man didn’t want to get involved with a ready made family, she’d never know and, frankly, didn’t want to, she only wanted to know why he used it to trick him and scare him off,On her way back down, she slipped off her heels to abandon them and slipped on a jumper, the flat was a bit chilly.

“Now, Sherlock Holmes,” She grumbled, gently shutting the sitting room door behind her. “Tell me, what the hell are you on about?”

“He wasn’t a good match.” Sherlock explained, simply, not looking up from his computer screen. “Better luck next time. You’ll have to trust me on this.”

“You’re so full of crap, who on earth do you think you are?” She stomped away from him and poured herself a cup of tea from the still hot electric kettle.

“I don’t expect you to understand my reasoning for anything.” His neglect to meet her eyes was driving her mad and she beginning to see red. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

“Sherlock, my father’s dead and you look nothing like him.” Finally, he fidgeted in the chair and cleared his throat, eyes still transfixed on the computer screen. Over come, Molly approached and slammed the laptop closed. “Look at me! What in blazes is more important than what we’re talking about right now? Do I bore you?” She demanded, unable to control her frustration with him anymore and he shuddered as he met the full force of her glare. “In what world is your behavior appropriate?” After licking his lips, Sherlock took a tentative breath and leaned back, speaking softly.

“You just seem to have a thing for idiots.” He attempted to explain.

“That’s not your place. Don’t you ever –”

“Christ, Molly, just because I’ll never be good enough for you does not mean that it’s fair to be or yourself to parade these uni flunk outs and smelly footballers though our flat!” He shouted, affronted by her irritation.

“Smelly? What your damned homeless network?!” She bit back. “We have indoor plumbing, why not offer it up instead of simply wrinkling your nose at them?”

“I’m not sure I can tell the difference anymore between your dates and my new applicants, or else I might!”

“Oh, really, Sherlock Holmes?!”

“Yes, really!”

“For someone so smart, you can be so dumb.” She gasped, setting down her mug of tea and running her fingers through her hair. “You’re the one who thinks you’re not good enough. I never said that. I asked you out a dozen times and you turned me away each and every time.” Fiercely, she pointed her finger at him.

“What could I possibly offer you?” He asked, carefully, standing and stepping into her space. “I’m married to my work and buried up to my waist in it, I’m cold, I’m distant and I’m not very kind at all.” As he rambled on, Molly began laughing, overcome with the ridiculousness of the conversation. “What?”

“Nothing. We just sound like a soap opera.” It took a moment for it to register with him, but the moment it did, he lapsed into giggles as well. “You know you’re wrong, right?” She smiled, raising her eyebrows, quizzically.

“Of course. Knew it was wrong as I did it.” He shrugged, sheepishly meeting her eyes again.

“Then, why did you really do it?” She asked.

“Because I like you here… in our home… and, well,” His shoulders heaved up and down as he breathed a heavy sigh. “John leaving was harder than I thought it would be.”

“I see.” She nodded, understanding, before a cheeky grin spread across her lips. “You love me.”

“I never said that.” He insisted, shaking his head as he returned to his seat before the laptop, again.

“You didn’t have to.” She explained, picking her tea back up and bringing it to her lips. “I deduced it.”

“You deduced nothing.” Sherlock scoffed.

“Oh, really. Well, I bet you if I kissed you, you won’t get hard.” Obviously startled, Sherlock looked up at her, mouth agap. “Well? What’s wrong? Are you chicken?”She inquired, folding her arms underneath, in order to flap them like a bird and cluck.

“I’m not scared. Its that… an erection is simply a physical response to that kind of stimulation, so, I may very well achieve one if you were to press your lips against mine.” Sherlock tried to explain.

“Ok.” She squeaked, taking another sip of tea and shrugging her shoulders.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” With a wink, she turned away, prepared to walk back upstairs and sit with Sheryl.

“For god sakes,” Her smile deepened as she heard him step closer up behind her. “Fine. Have at it.” He insisted, closing his eyes and throwing his arms down at his side.

“Have a what?” It wasn’t very easy for her to play innocent when faced with this rare opportunity.

“The stipulation was that you kiss me, now, go on.” Molly laughed as she set her tea on the end table by John’s former chair and she grabbed his face. This was a bet Sherlock, happily, lost, right before being left to his devices as Molly slipped upstairs to sit with Sheryl.


	14. Just Not Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from shadowyqueenbeard on tumblr.

Molly Hooper took a very deep, purposeful breath as she climbed out of the cab in the rain to see people she recognized carrying furniture she knew was her own out of her apartment building. She’d told him a dozen times in nearly every way she could think of that she wasn’t interested in having a roommate right now. After living with Tom a little over a year, she needed some alone time no matter how much the doubling of her expenses was. Sherlock Holmes ignoring this and treading over it made her feel hurt, unheard and disrespected.

No matter how certain she was making her feel this way was not his intent, that didn’t change how she felt. Seeing her worldly possessions being loaded onto the laurie had her seeing red through blurry eyes, but she didn’t let a single tear fall; it wasn’t worth the time.

“Excuse me.” She called after the men, two holding a rather heavy antique side board. “I’m going to have to ask you to take that back up stairs, please.”

“I’m sorry, lady, but we have orders –”The one walking backwards explained, his red baseball cap becoming more and more damp with rain.

“And I am superseding those orders.” Molly kept her tone even and authoritative, she’d worked in male heavy environments long enough to know how to assert herself. “See, Sherlock has no authority over my private property so, whatever he told you when he sent you here to collect my things means nothing if I do not wish to comply. Now, do you want to stand out here and argue in the rain, waiting for the sky to fully open up, or would you rather simply turn around and put my great- great grams buffet table back in the dinner area of my flat?” As she looked him back and forth, she immediately knew they’d realized Sherlock hadn’t paid them enough to both move furniture and argue with Molly and relented with heavy sighs. As they changed directions with curses under their breath, she walked in front and made her way up to the flat first.

Bursting through the door, she was grateful to see that they’d been working their way back to the bedroom; even the photos on the wall in the corridor that lead back to the half bath and master suite where still hanging there as they had been when she left that morning. Seeking salvation in her bedroom was the only thing she really truly wanted at this moment. Closing the door to her bedroom, she pulled her cell out of her pocket and dialed Sherlock as she proceeded to disrobe, starting with her damp jacket.

“Hello, Molly.” The cheerful cry of the consulting detective chimed in her ear.

“Hello, my arse. Where do you get off?” Perhaps it wasn’t the best decision in this scenario, to respond with frustration, but between Sherlock’s audacity to send over movers unprompted and her socks refusing to peel away; soaked from a step in an inconceivably deep puddle.

“Whatever do you mean?” He was playing coy, Molly knew and wanted none of it.

“You sent over about 3 men from your homeless network to collect my things.” Her jeans didn’t fight her nearly as hard as the wet socks and slid off with little effort. “I told you, I don’t know how many times, that I just want to live by myself right now.”

“Molly, you know as well as I do how impractical our arrangements are.” His voice was a bit sing-song; he was trying so desperately to charm her. “Neither of us can comfortably afford to maintain our residences on our own, so why not combine our households.” If he could read her at all through the phone, he would sense her annoyance as she rolled her eyes and unhooked her bra. She grumbled a bit at the site of her breasts with a swear under her breath. “The yeast infection back?” Molly gaped at her reflection in the mirror, how on earth he could guess about the state of the skin around her bra band was certainly beyond her.

“I’d really like to know how you deduced that I not only had a rash but the type.” She demanded.

“Well, there are several ways to deduce that. The way you walk, the sound of your voice —”

“Stop lying.” She was careful to control the tone of her voice as her lips curved into a small smile. Molly crouched down to check the temperature of the water under the tap of her bathtub.

“Fine. Your tank top caught on your camisole when I followed you into the locker room last week, I saw a small patch of it right below that bright pink bra with the blue lining.” Molly giggled.

“You remember my bra?” 

“Yes.” She shook her head and released a loud exhale.

“Listen, Sherlock.” Molly spoke softly as she took off her panties. “I don’t want to move. I want to live in my tiny flat, all alone, and spend some time, alone, drinking tea in my new fuzzy slippers, alone, or painting my toenails and watching a chick flick, alone,…. just… enjoying being single again.” Leaning against the cold linoleum in her bare skin, she allowed the slight chill to flash through her. “You must understand, Sherlock…. If I was ready to share my personal life with anyone… come home to someone, share breakfast with someone or —- a bathroom with someone….” Her smile widened, sharing a bathroom was one of the few things she didn’t enjoy about relationships sometimes, particularly considering she liked men who put sometime into their appearance. “It would be you.”

“I know.” His dry voice cracked before he swallowed loud enough for her to hear. “I just – wish you were — ya know.”

“I know, Sherlock.” She smiled, pressing her phone between her cheek and shoulder, she leaned on her left side and grabbed her right arm, gently caressing it; reminding herself that it’s ok to not be ready to pursue whatever it was Sherlock was hoping for.

“I’m sorry.” He said, voice still dry.

“Good. You should be.” Molly stood up straighter and nodded at herself in the mirror, self assured. “It wasn’t ok, but you are forgiven.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock cleared his throat. “I’ll go ahead and - uh- tell them to unload your things.”

“I already did, just see that they leave soon.” Carefully, she pulled out her ponytail and brought out her hairbrush.

“They’ll be gone when you’re out of the shower.” Smiling, she knew she’d meant it when she said, if she were ready to share a flat again, it’d be with him. His instincts and deductions, though annoying at times, could also be comforting.

“Thank you, Sherlock.” He hummed an affirmative and they said their goodbyes. She wasn’t certain exactly what he wanted from their relationship; he seemed less inclined to lead her on now, but with Sherlock, nothing was certain.


	15. Loose Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm preparing to undergo Weight Loss Surgery in a few months and,though I have chosen a different operation than the Molly in this story, my worries about my potential loose skin and skin surgery (mostly financial) are definitely plaguing my mind and inspired this piece.

                 Molly gave a tug at the fleshy folds of her body and forced herself to examine her naked body in the mirror, decades of self abuse evident within the crinkles Sometimes she would thumb at them and imagine they were a specific snack cake she’d eaten in her childhood. Keeping them in the dark beneath her clothing was appropriate considering that that’s where they were formed; in the blackened corner of her parents pantry where she’d shamefully clear skid’s of cookies from their packaging. The little wrinkled apron her weight had left behind after all her hard work should have been removed by now. In fact, it was probably doing some sort of damage to her body.  
For a moment, she allowed her focus to move to the nearly invisible scars from the bypass surgery she’d had. She could remember how excited and scared she was that day and all the emotions she felt the moment the anesthesiologist placed the mask on her face. It was horrifying and thrilling… she was afraid of complications and failing. Now, all these years later, she knew she hadn’t failed, but something was missing.

  
“There you are, Molly.” She shrieked and scrambled for her towel, wrapping it tightly around her body. From his spot in the doorway of the locker room, Sherlock’s face wrinkled in momentary confusion before continuing into the room, shaking the worried micro expressions from his face with a gentle twist of his head. “I thought you had another hour on your shift, I need your help with something in the lab.” Careful not to look up at her, he gathered her clothing from the nearby bench and offered them too her, but the buzzing of the halogens lights above their heads was his only response.

  
Slowly, he raised his eyes with a calculated aim, not certain where to focus given her reaction. When their eyes finally met, she felt she had no choice but to speak.

  
“I’m naked.” She exhaled, her voice a cocktail of shock and irritation.

  
“Yes, which is why I’m handing you clothes.”

“Sherlock!” She hadn’t meant for her voice to squeak or to sound so distressed, but her emotions were as primitive in their nature and was her cry. The wounded animal type sound she’d released from her lips,bounced off the walls. Standing up straight, Sherlock returned her clothes to their former place and began deducing her; she could feel it.

“You lost a lot of weight before I met you…”

“I had gastric bypass.” He nodded at her meek whisper.

“We’ve known each other for years, though, why haven’t you gotten skin surgery?” Though his gaze was piercing and she was fighting the urge to kick him in the bollocks, she stood dead still. “Are you… afraid?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe… but,.... Molly.” He stopped square in front of her, his eye’s gentler now. “How close were you to your father?”

“My dad?”

“Yes, when did he pass?” Molly felt the color leave her cheeks and her knees buckle a bit.

“He died about two years before we met.” There it was, he’d connected the dots and finished this particular puzzle.

“It was different for you,... going through the surgery with him there,wasn’t it?” She sighed, obviously irritated.

“Fine….” Relenting, she pulled the towel tighter. “He wasn’t feeling well when I went in… I told you he was ill. I slept most of the first day, when I woke up the second day, my sister told me.”

“Told you what?” Swallowing hard to choke down her tears, she exhaled.

“He was in the same hospital, on life support.” It almost hurt to hold them back, now. “We left the hospital the same day, just not together.” He nodded, sternly, as he backed away.

“Molly, if you sincerely do not want the surgery, I’ll leave it be, but it obviously bothers you.” Angrily, she moved the towel and grabbed at her stomach again.

“I look like silly putty smashed onto a stick.” Finally, her eyes watered. Maybe she expected him to be appalled or disgusted,... to run away in terror, but he maintain eye contact; never drifted his view below her neck.

“If you don’t want the surgery, it’s not a big deal, but if you do and you’re just scared…” The warmth of his hand wrapping around hers as he leaned forward, bending at the waist, soothed her a bit. “You don’t have to go through it alone.”

“Really?”

“After all you’ve done for me, Molly, you don’t think I’d see you through this?” Sherlock sounded almost insulted, but she could hear the small twinge of pain in it.

“It’s just…” Returning her focus back to her reflection, she began playing with her skin folds again. “I kind of always felt if he weren’t here to see it, what’s the point, you know?”

“Molly, it is very sad that your father is missing the fruits of your labor, but this is about you.” With a bit of a groan and a sigh, he added. “I’m sure it’s what he would want, too.” She returned his kind gesture with a faint smile as she took a deep breath.

“You promise you’ll be there?”

“Absolutely!” Sherlock considered for a moment, gently rolling his eyes in his head. “Unless of course I kill someone else and Mycroft has to send me off to my own possible demise.”

“Stop it!” Playfully, she gave him a bit of a shove. The consulting detective seem a bit taken aback for a moment until he saw the slight upward curve of her lips and he returned it, warmly. As if it were some sort of irritant, though,he quickly changed the subject, offering up her clothing again.

“So, as I said, I require your assistance.” With a deep sigh, she accepted the bundle in his arms and allowed him to leave, no doubt setting up the lab ahead of her and giving her little choice but to join him. She knew he meant well, but Molly made a mental note to reteach him how to ask her for help.


	16. Your Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I used the first song I recognized on a random Apple Radio Station for inspiration. In this case, it was Kelly Clarksons "Because of You"

Calmly and quietly, Molly began packing up her items in her small office, not hearing the footsteps of the dark and somber consulting detective who frequented the lab. It’d been only hours since he’d last been in and a good few months before that. Only slightly out of character for him, he’d take a chair at a microscope and grumble to himself. Several times, she thought she saw him eyeing her, but when she offered to help, he’d simply say ‘No’ and dismiss himself abruptly.   
Now, as she gathered her things, not expecting any visitors, she found herself gasping at the creek of the door directly behind her, swinging her body around violently and mindlessly, in the process, brandishing a pair of scissors she didn’t even remember owning than alone picking up.  
“Well, you certainly have good reflexes.” Sherlock blinked, his face displaying something akin to admiration. With a heavy exhale, she allowed her body to collapse and replaced the scissors into her cup jar.  
“What do you need, Sherlock. I was heading home for the night.” She asked, turning her back to him as she positioned her bag on her shoulder. When their eyes finally met again, she could tell he’d decided against whatever he was originally going to say.   
“Its fine,” He smiled. “I have the equipment at home, anyway, but could I….” With a small chuckle, she returned his friendly expression.   
“What do you need, Sherlock?”   
“Just some iodine.”  
“Iodine?” Wrinkling her nose, Molly stepped by Sherlock, leading the way to the closet in the lab they had to walk through. “You can just buy iodine. Why get it here?”   
“I always get the compulsive masterbator when I go to the grocery.” He grumbled.  
“You could use self check out.” She chortled. “I always get that bloke Chad.”  
“Is that his name?” Sherlock paused, midstep. “Dusty blound hair, brown eyes, and that…. that” he opened his palm toward his face, gesturing with it the middle of his face. “Nose….” Molly’s expression didn’t take to move from a high eyebrow to a look of worry.  
“Chad?” She asked, aghast. “Chad is the chronic masterbator?”  
“Didn’t you see his palm?”  
“That could be anything, Sherlock. I thought maybe it was just a skin condition.”   
“It is when you make it one.” He shrugged. “Given the state of his hands, I’d fear whats going on ----”  
“Ok, stop, I’m a medical professional and thats too much for me.” Shaking her head, she returned to the cabinet in the corner. “He touched my produce for goodness sakes.”  
“Best check it for venereal diseases.” She narrowed her eyes at his comment as she handed him his bottle of iodine and made her way out.  
“See you later, Sherlock.” Cheerily, she called to him as she flipped off the last light in the room.  
“Molly, why are you marrying him?” After a brief silence, she turned on her heels, the scratching sound of the dust beneath her soles filling the room.  
“He has a name.”  
“Yes, he does.” Sherlock swallowed. “Why are you marrying him?”  
“Him who?” Crossing her arms, she stared him down.  
“Oh come on,Molly.”  
“No, Sherlock, you come on.” With the shake of her head, she let out a scoff and held back her tears but not her tongue. “What did you expect, Sherlock? That I’d just sit around and pine for you?” Her tear ducts burned a bit, but she held firm. “Not everyone wants to get married and have a family, Sherlock, and thats ok. But I found a man, a nice man, that wants one. That wants one.” She emphasized. “He’s nothing but kind, he loves kids and he will be so good with them, Sherlock.” The dam was threatening to break now, catching her breath reinforced her will. “He even offered to work half time or quit when we have them so someone is there all the time and he loves me. He loves me, Sherlock, which is a lot less than I could say for you.” Even as she gasped at her words, Sherlock, somehow, didn’t seemed injured by them. He was stoic as ever.  
“In all that babbling, Molly, you never once said you loved him.” Sherlock took a cautious step towards her. Not close enough to stare her down and intimidate her, he still pressed. “You never said his name either and you never said you loved him.” Molly placed her hands on her hips as she bite at her bottom lip and admired the toes of her shoes a moment. “He’s safe, Molly.”  
“Of course he’s safe, Sherlock.” A single tear had finally released itself and slid down her cheek. “Maybe, after what we had, I needed a little safety. Maybe I would rather be safe with Tom than hurting with you.”   
“Molly…”  
“Don’t “Molly” me, Sherlock.” It was a steady, controlled stream now, releasing the emotional pressure so she wouldn’t collapse. “I tried so hard to forget everything and move on, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t let anyone else in where you were. My life is empty, Sherlock, and I’m so afraid that if I sat around waiting for you or something that makes me feel like you did, I’m going to end up like you.” Perhaps her tongue did need reigned in a bit, that was second or third time she’d said something cruel in as many minutes. “I watch you die. I sat by you when you cried that night. You should have known better than to pick me, Sherlock, and I should have known better than to help. You don’t care about how bad you hurt us all, did you, Sherlock?” It was his turn to investigate his shoes and sigh heavily. “You only know how bad you’re hurting.”  
“You know you’re wrong, Molly.” She had heard him, but she couldn’t stop the words falling out her mouth.  
“You’re why I’m stuck with Tom. Its all your fault.” For one final moment, their eyes met before she gave him her back and marched herself out of the building.


	17. Uncharacteristic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for language

Angrily, Molly bursted into 221b, setting up to wear a path in front of the table, where Sherlock was working with his microscope, with her furious pacing.

Sherlock didn’t hear much, but did take note that she was uncharastically enraged at someone who wasn’t him. However, the chatter didn’t deter him from his slides until he heard words he had never heard, or thought he would hear, uttered by her gentle voice.A phrase like “shitfaced cockmunch” or some such gaspable profanity, came sputtering from the lips of our beloved Molly with shocking ease.

For a moment,Sherlock blinked, pulling away from his microscope to watch her ramble on until he finally chose to interrupt her.

“Name.”

“What?” Taken aback, Molly wasn’t prepared to answer questions. 

“The name of this person you’ve been talking about.”

“Who? Ryder?” 

“Right.” Rising from the table, color leaves Molly’s face as she realizes what she’s done and struggles to stop him as he pulls on his Belstaff with determined ceremony.

“No, no, Sherlock! You can’t!” She gasps at him, holding him still in the corridor of the flat. 

“Why not?” Genuinely confused, he stared down at her.

“Think, Sherlock, really think. You’ll make things worse for me at work.” As she sees him relax, she allows her fingers to release the fabric of the coat, but only pulls her hand away as he nods. “Sometimes, it’s still hard to be a woman. I have female coworkers, but not many, and some of the men are a bit insensitive.” A smile spread across her lips,behind his back as he hung his signature coat back up. “You know, though,…. no one said we couldn’t devise some sort of payback.” Sherlocks eyes caught the light as he turned to face her, gleaming with mischief. 

“I suppose there isn’t, is there.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Posted May 15th, 2015


End file.
